Shades of Grey
by Captain James
Summary: Whenever the Grey Lady thinks of the Bloody Baron, he shows up. (One-shot)


**Title:** "Shades of Grey"

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** Whenever the Grey Lady thinks of the Bloody Baron, he shows up.

**Warnings:** None.

**Pairing:** Slight GreyLady/BloodyBaron.

**Labels:** One-shot

**Author's Notes:** This fic was written in response to FictionAlley's Valentine's Day Challenge; my challenge was "The Grey Lady is afraid of The Bloody Baron". Thanks to Sara for beta-reading it and to Manion for the help with a certain troublesome sentence!

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She swept along the corridor with anxious haste, not bothering to avoid gliding through students, determined not to let the fear that gripped her insides show on her face.

He had gotten someone to cast a spell on her, she was certain. A spell that allowed him to know when she was thinking of him. _Adhibeo Recordor_? That one was quite difficult to perform.

But to what purpose? Why would the Baron want to know when she was thinking of him? Just to show up at that very moment and scare her to second death? The Bloody Baron was known for taking silent pleasure in causing fear, but never in this fashion. He had only to glide past a group of students to see them scatter away like flies.

And in the three centuries since she had taken residence in this castle, he had never harassed her.

The feeling of emptiness in her stomach grew stronger. Why was he doing this? What was he going to do next? He had been playing this game at her expense for almost two weeks now. Surely he had already thought of a new level to which to take it? She shuddered at the thought.

The counter-curse for whatever spell he had cast on her was bound to be in some book or another; all she had to do was pay a quick visit to the library. So why was she putting it off? It's not as if she enjoyed having him appear out of nowhere when she least expected him. Not to mention, she hardly ever passed up an opportunity to do some research; she had an eternity of free time.

The only remaining solution to this problem would be to stop thinking about the Bloody Baron. It shouldn't be that difficult. Granted, it had been difficult over the last twelve days, but then she hadn't set her mind to it. And she was nothing if not determined.

The plan was so perfect in its simplicity that her fear faded away in a second. Her smile was so wide that her eyes closed by themselves. All she had to do was stop thinking about him-

She opened her eyes to find a face in front of hers.

Her eyes widened in terror and the pit of her stomach seemed to dive to her feet. The man before her did not even blink.

Fear seemed to create a strange magnetic force between her chin and her chest, for she could no longer hold her head up. There was a heavy, oppressive silence. The sensations that took hold of her body were more real than anything else she had felt since her death. Her limbs were ready to jump at the first order from the brain, but at the same time they felt slack. An almost prickling shiver spread through her body like wildfire, igniting every nerve end.

She was acutely aware of the Baron's presence in front of her, his eyes boring into her head, the rigidity of his ankles that prevented his feet from hanging limply, the golden trims of his cloak. And she waited. What next?

"Good evening, young lady."

She almost jumped out of her skin at the greeting, her head automatically snapping up. Her gaze flickered momentarily over the hard lines of his jaw before dropping to the floor again. Was he expecting her to reply?

"Good evening," she said tentatively, her voice embarrassingly weak.

"Am I so repulsive that you can't look at my face?"

She felt the hoarse whisper brush the top of her head, and shivered again. He was closer. "N-no," she replied unthinkingly, her mind too busy dealing with all the intense sensations that were assaulting her body.

"Nevertheless, you won't look at me."

_What? _Her usually sharp mind couldn't process the words – a consequence of fear, likely, since she was always quick.

"Surely you don't have a medical condition that is affecting you neck? Your spine is always rigid when I see you around the castle – you even lift your chin slightly upwards."

"D-do I?" Why did she feel the need to fill the pauses in his speech with nonsensical stutters?

"You do. I have been watching you."

Had she been standing on the floor, her knees would have given way.

"And so I have come to the inevitable conclusion that you find me aesthetically repelling- ugly."

Ugly. Did that make him angry? Would he...relieve his anger on her in some way? And yet she could not help but sense some amusement in his tones. Did she dare look up?

Yes, she did.

She was confronted by a cryptic smile, but no words. He looked so different when he was smiling...almost nice, and certainly not as frightening as his previously permanent frown made him appear.

He didn't seem to be expecting words from her either, so she took her time to examine his face objectively and impersonally in an attempt to dispel the fluttering feeling in her stomach. Items were methodically listed in her head: his features were rigid, but not unpleasant; his eyes were so pale that it was hard to say where the iris ended and the sclera began; his thin black hair was tied back-

"Tolerable, then?"

His voice pulled her back to the present situation. "Sorry?"

"Not repelling, tolerable."

Was she expected to agree? All methodical or impersonal lists were gone from her mind. She did find his features tolerable now that they were softened and not pulled into a frown. In fact, she found them quite pleasing to the eye, but she was not about to tell him that. "One could say that," she replied noncommittally, her voice much firmer now.

"You are not," he said slowly, carefully, as if expecting her to counter him.

She could not help feeling slightly offended at his words, but she knew better than to contradict the Bloody Baron, of course. Her feelings must have shown on her face, though, because the Baron's smile grew wider.

"You are, in fact, a beautiful woman."

Right. Did he think false flattery would get him somewhere with her?

She gasped as realisation dawned on her. She might not have understood at first, but it was clear to her now. The whole situation was more than clear. The Baron was evidently trying to seduce her.

"Listen, Mr...Baron," she started, fear quickly giving way under anger, " You may think I do not know why you are doing this, but your intentions are very clear to me. I assure you, I am most definitely _not_ a woman to surrender herself to the first man who-"

"I beg your pardon?" The Baron's voice was dark, the smile gone from his face to be replaced by an intimidating frown, and he had risen a few inches on the air.

All anger in her immediately vanished at that, fear gripping her heart again with an icy claw, her chin dropping back to her chest. And she had thought she knew better...

The Baron's feet slowly descended back to their original place. "I was merely trying to make polite conversation." His hand reached out and took light hold of her chin, lifting it slowly. His eyes held hers, an intangible grip that prevented her from looking away. He was no longer frowning. "Am I to understand I am the first man, then?"

Affronted, she drew back, breaking contact. Anger and fear battled and mingled with each other in her stomach as she tried to suppress a sharp reply and replace it with a more respectful one. None came to mind, so she settled for a question. "First man to what?"

The Baron's lips stretched again, this time forming a smirk. "I do not know; I was only repeating your words." His smirk grew wider as he prompted, "Perhaps I'm the first man to induce such strong, bewildering feelings in you?"

Appalled at his daring, she simply stared at him. Her mind was racing, though. Even if it had been a while since she had felt such strong sensations, it was most certainly not the first time, and she wondered if a man was ever the cause of them.

"You look young." The Baron's voice swam through her thoughts. He had apparently decided the previous subject of their conversation was not proper enough, or so she thought. He was no longer smirking.

"Yes," she answered simply.

"And sad."

She blinked. "Sometimes."

The Baron's gaze dropped for an instant, as if he were unsure of what to do next. "Do you..." he trailed off. It was the first time she had heard him pause hesitantly in the middle of a sentence. He lifted his chin a fraction of an inch and continued, more firmly now, "Do you wish you had lived longer?"

The question was unexpected. She hardly ever talked to anyone about her life, much less about her death. Pondering on the question for a moment, she finally decided to volunteer some information in hopes of getting some answers to her own questions lately. "No," she started, and realised talking about it would be harder than she had thought. "I...I decided to take my own life in order to…end my suffering."

The Baron's eyes darkened. "That is never the answer."

"I would have died all the same, Baron," she said, ready to defend her decision. "I was very sick."

The Baron nodded slowly, seeming to understand—approve?—her past actions. He didn't say anything, and neither did she. It was a comfortable silence at first, but then the need to fill it with words or actions forced her to think of something to break it.

The Baron spoke first. "I am afraid it's time for me to leave. I do not wish to keep a lady from her day's arrangements." He reached out and slowly took hold of her hand, lifting it and bowing down at the same time. "I bid you good night," he said, closing his eyes and kissing the back of her hand.

The delicate brush of lips against her skin made her bones melt, and she had to press her tongue against the roof of her mouth to keep herself from gasping. It was over in a second, and the Baron pulled away, leaving her feeling bereft and slightly cold.

He released her hand slowly as he stood upright again, but she did not draw back. Tentatively, almost fearfully, she reached out and touched his forearm, sliding her hand up with feather-light touches, barely feeling the brush of his clothes, until her fingers were hovering over a big, amorphous silver stain on his chest. She waited, but he did not pull away. She shouldn't ask, she shouldn't-

"How did you get these?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. The Baron went still, his body tense, his chest unmoving. Cold terror washed over her; she did not dare to move or speak, lest she provoked a reaction from the man in front of her.

After what seemed an eternity, the Baron breathed out a sigh, his chest shrinking away from her hand. "Why do you want to know?"

She blinked, raking her mind for the right answer. Why had she asked? Curiosity had gotten the better of her once again. "I don't. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"No, you don't," the Baron whispered, his eyes boring into hers, and she wondered distantly what exactly he meant.

He took a deep breath and straightened up, breaking eye contact with her. "I must leave you now," he said in a much lighter, indifferent tone.

"Yes," was all she could reply as the Baron turned away and disappeared through the opposite wall. "Yes," she repeated, already planning her moves for the next time she thought of him.

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End file.
